The Contract
by Suramira
Summary: Gaignun Kukai could get any woman he wanted - except the one he wanted the most.


Angelina. Loreen. Meg. Ria. Alice. Laila.

Over the years I've made conquests of a hundred hearts. But not the one I've been longing for.

I still remember her, smiling down at me when I showed her something I'd found. How she'd speak in her quick, pretty voice--"That's lovely, Nigredo." I can't pretend I never saw her in the shadows, her little waist in the crook of my father's arm. I can't deny I never heard her sigh as he kissed her. But still my schoolboy crush persisted.

Fourteen years later I'm still trying. She hasn't been the only one on my mind. But she's the only one who's persisted. And now--two white ankles crossed, toes pointed aside, straight back--she's sitting across from me, sipping on a cup of tea. Her eyes rise over the rim of the ceramic cup, looking straight at me.

"So tell me," she says, and hearing her speak--to me, by God!--is absolutely mind-rending. "Why, exactly, have you called me here?"

I weigh my words carefully before I say, "You and I have some unresolved issues..." I cross my arms and look back at her out of the corner of my eye. "...Doctor."

I can see a little flicker of a smile cross her lips. "Unresolved issues. Trust someone like _you_ to call me out for something like _that_."

We're both silent for a few moments, eyes locked, until she looks back into her drink. "You know how busy I am. I hope these _unresolved issues_ are important."

"Trust me," I say. "They are."

"Mm." She shrugs her shoulders out of her coat, lazily. I watch it fall, arms still in the sleeves, the shape of her shoulders exposed. She's barely paying attention to me. Fourteen years has changed her greatly, but not in this respect.

I take a box out of my pocket. "Cigarette?"

She looks at me like I ought to already know the answer. "_Please._ I'm a doctor."

"Suit yourself."

Her fingers are wrapping around the cup, tight and tense. So she's getting perturbed. She rearranges her ankles--from right over left to left over right. It's amazing how her eyes can stay so calm, but these little things give her away.

"Let's get to the point, Mr. Kukai," she says, and the razor in her voice is sharper than usual. Does she know I'm not just playing with her? Fourteen years I've waited to make my move. However, I can't deny that I'm enjoying watching her grow annoyed. A touch of the sadistic, Nigredo?

"Yes," I agree. "Let's get to the point."

I stand and begin to walk in a wide circle around her. She's watching me, warily, out of the corners of her eyes. I can see her eyes narrowing, but the little slits of green are still tantalizing. I was once a prince, but she was queen above us all. Your Majesty, may I have this dance?

She sets down her cup. "If we're not going to get anywhere, I'm leaving."

"Oh no," I say. "You're not."

I put two hands on her shoulders. I reach down and left her arm until she's extending it. She turns her head and looks at it. I see her swallow as I pull her arm out of her coat sleeve.

"Now," I say, stepping out, holding her hand. "About these unresolved issues you and I have..."

And just as I expected, she reacts. When I give a tug on her arm, she's up and in position. Her other arm falls out of the coat, the chain around her waist jangles for a moment, then settles. Obviously she's done this a hundred times.

I pull her in close. "Do you remember, fourteen years ago? I fell down and skinned up my knee, and you cleaned it for me. I was twelve."

She sniffs. "I can't remember such a trivial incident."

"Well, I certainly haven't forgotten. You had such a sweet voice then." And I spin her outward with more feeling than I intended.

"And not anymore?"

"I wouldn't know," I say lightly, even though of course I would. How many times have I listened for her voice, when I heard the clack-clack of a woman's shoes coming down the hall? I jerk her arm, and she is pulled close to me, dragging her toe across the carpet.

"Good form," I say.

"Practice," she replies.

There is no music, but there's something playing, ringing in my brain. We take a few steps back, to the side, in perfect tandem. The woman can dance.

As I spin her out, I say, "Who taught you?"

She turns back to me. "Your father."

Obvious. "He taught you well."

Her hand is clasped in mine, with just the right amount of grip. Light, feminine, but also tight and dominant. It's obvious that this time, the woman is leading the dance.

With a flick of her wrist, she sends me spinning. "What else did you learn from my father?" I ask her.

She jerks me back. "Things he certainly never taught you," she replies.

"Did you love him?"

She looks right into my eyes. It's a startling, sudden movement. I hold her gaze, which isn't near as hard or frightening as it once was. Now, it's almost vulnerable. But she hardens it up again in a second, and takes a step to urge us back into the dance. "You know I did," she says. There is no shame in her voice.

I close my eyes. I can do this dance blind. She says, "Your father would be proud. You do this dance well."

And it's time for the finish. I flick her out, pull her back, a series of complicated steps that take concentration and precision. She's good; I nearly falter. "And you? Are you proud that I can dance like this?" I say.

As she makes the very final step, she says, "Proud's not the word."

I bow. She does not.

We're watching each other, locked in the final position. The entire room is so quiet, it's defeaning. The door is locked, and there is only one more move to make.

Helena. Mariana. Yuki. Alisha.

Over the years, I've made a conquest of a hundred hearts. That day, I made one more.


End file.
